


Prismatic

by allfireburns



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alien Technology, Community: writerinadrawer, Gen, Humor, Illness, POV Third Person, Present Tense, Snark, Team, altered perception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:59:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfireburns/pseuds/allfireburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You just know it's going to be a long day when your teammates start glowing various colours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prismatic

Gwen's head is throbbing, and not just because Owen seems to be glowing an obnoxious chartreuse. She can't decide if that's supposed to be the colour for curiosity or _sadism_. He ties off a tourniquet above her elbow, reaches for a syringe; she closes her eyes and tries to ignore the prick of the needle. Compared to her headache, it's not bad.

She can still see colours behind her eyelids, which is even more annoying - Owen chartreuse, and ranged at intervals around the autopsy room balcony, there's Tosh (pale green), Ianto (dull amber), and Jack. Jack isn't a single colour, or even several easily identifiable colours. In her head, behind her eyelids, he's opalescent, flickering red, gold, blue. Maybe it's Jack giving her the headache, not Owen.

"_When_ did this start?" he asks. Her eyes snap open again, and she winces as the light hits her eyes.

"Last night, and before you ask why I didn't tell you, I _thought_ I was just tired. When you're awake for forty-eight hours, things do get a little... fuzzy around the edges."

The needle slides out of her arm, and Owen unties the tourniquet. Gwen watches him, but her attention swings back to Jack momentarily. "There's a difference between fuzzy around the edges and _glowing_, Gwen."

"No, I hadn't noticed."

She sighs, sliding off the autopsy table. The moment she's on her feet, the world tips alarmingly; before she tips with it, she reaches out, catches herself on the side of the table and hangs on tight. The glow surrounding Jack flares orange, stabbing into Gwen's temples. Typical Jack, she thinks. Pretty, and can't help being a pain.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she says through gritted teeth, and sits back down. "Just-"

"Feverish," Owen finishes for her, "and if we're all very lucky, not contagious. I do not want to die of an alien virus."

"Thank you, Owen." Gwen smiles wanly, and reminds herself she'll only fall over if she tries to hit him.

* * *

Ianto hands Gwen a mug of tea before sliding into his seat at the boardroom table. Gwen smiles gratefully; after an hour, her head's pounding more than ever, and she feels accomplished just for making her way up the stairs. And it's only ten in the morning. It's going to be a long day.

"So what's wrong with me?" She tries not to look at Owen as she asks.

"That question's going to take a while to answer." Chartreuse, Gwen decides, is the colour for _obnoxious twat_. "I _can_ tell you that whatever it is that's infected you, it's definitely alien. Kind of weird, though."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Weirder than, you know, _aliens_?"

"Weird in that it's got similarities to influenza."

Tosh frowns and leans forward. "You mean like it's... mutated? Or crossbred?"

Gwen groans. "Bloody brilliant. I just got the flu jab the other day. I only wanted my mum to stop nagging me."

"Does taking your mother's advice ever go well?" Ianto wonders aloud. "Not your mother specifically, Gwen. I'm sure she's lovely."

Jack looks thoughtful. "My mother used to give me advice in the form of zen koans. This was a problem. ...does anyone else know what the hell 'if you meet the Buddha, kill him' means? Because I don't think she was actually advocating murder."

Ianto turns to stare at Jack in open-mouthed confusion. Jack gleams blue-purple. Gwen resists the urge to throw her mug at him, and clears her throat. "Can we please get back to the alien virus and my newfound synaesthesia?"

"I'm not sure it's technically-" Tosh cuts off at a glance from Jack, as he rises to his feet, hands on the table.

"Alright. Owen, we're going to that flu jab clinic. Tosh, Ianto, I want you checking hospital records; see if you can find anyone with similar symptoms. See what we find, work from there."

They rise to their feet and start out of the boardroom. Jack lingers for a moment, and Gwen lifts her head, eyebrows raised. "And what am I supposed to do?"

"You barely made it up the stairs, Gwen. My suggestion? Sit here, drink your tea. Though if you really wanted, you could go professional with that aura-reading thing. What's my colour?"

She considers, and finally answers, smiling faintly, "Smug bastard."


End file.
